


somewhere out there is the possibility of a better way to live

by MANIAvinyl



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Has Issues, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Grief, Hurt, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Pain, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Suicide Attempt, Suicide mention, Survivor Guilt, self harm mention, self harm warning, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 07:20:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20078326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MANIAvinyl/pseuds/MANIAvinyl
Summary: Every time he tried, every time he held a g-18 to his temple and shut his eyes, he saw Romanov. He heard her voice in his head, telling him it’ll be okay, and her gentle eyes, that showed she had seen so much evil but somehow still found room in her heart for him. So he’d take the gun away with shaking hands, emptying the bullets, and doing everything in his power to forget about her.I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Endgame was Haweye’s movie and no one can change my mind. I wanted to explore Clint’s life after the war, and his shattered inner monologue regarding Natasha. (Post-Endgame, Canon-compliant, etc., trigger warnings may apply)





	somewhere out there is the possibility of a better way to live

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy!

It was as if his brain never fully comprehended it. The past five years was like a fugue state— but not really. He knew what he was doing, as if his inhibitions left him, stranded and alone. Or so he thought. But hadn’t the avengers taught him that he was never really alone?

He can hardly even remember that day. One moment they were there, and the next they were gone. That’s it— that’s reality. And for so long he didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to face the facts, didn’t dare stumble back to New York, to the avengers headquarters. 

He thought about it, long and hard, as he wove his way around the world, with criminals’ heads on the ends of his arrows, and a type of coldness that had settled so deep in his heart that he thought it couldn’t ever be thawed. He didn’t know why he did it, really. He didn’t want to know.

But he could never bring himself to stop, and go back to the people he once called his other family, because he’s sure a part of him was scared that they’d be gone in the dust, too. That this whole mess was a punishment— to him, to the avengers, to all the other evils of the universe. 

So he left the states, travelled to all the corners of the globe and then some, to kill those evils that he was sure caused this. 

To kill himself in the process.

But every time he tried, every time he held a g-18 to his temple and shut his eyes, he saw Romanoff. He heard her voice in his head, telling him it’ll be okay, and her gentle eyes, that showed she had seen so much evil but somehow still found room in her heart for him. So he’d take the gun away with shaking hands, emptying the bullets, and doing everything in his power to forget about her.

Because in the end he didn’t deserve her. He deserved more pain, and destruction— the very thing he’d worked so hard to move away from. Back when his only problem was getting himself to see a psychiatrist, getting himself out of his head and back into the real world.

Back when all of that was an option. Back when the real world was one that he recognized.

Now, her memory is painful but in a different way. It’s sharp and crashing, but also there’s something about it that’s different; it’s almost like hope. 

Because in the end, she thought that his life, his future, the future of his family and all the other ones ripped apart by the great titan himself— it was all more important than her own. In the end, it was her choice, and he didn’t have it in himself to feel guilty. Only proud.

They still walked on eggshells around him, though. His... friends. Or whatever was left of them. 

Bucky and Sam were there, despite everything. Despite the grief they felt as they mourned for Steve— despite the bittersweet pain of the costly victory, despite the destruction. They stood strong, just as he wanted to.

Rhodey, too, even though Clint knew he missed Tony like hell. Everyone missed Tony. 

Clint didn’t come around the compound often. Usually he stayed at home, like he did before, just sort of pretended that nothing had happened— that it was still five years ago and he was just a father on a farm. But sometimes his mind would take him back to New York, and he’d drive down the long drive back south to the compound.

And then he’d sit in his car and try not to imagine Natasha in those windows up at the top. Try not to think about how she’s not there anymore, because of her sacrifice— her generosity.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

He must’ve been sitting there for a while, because soon he saw somebody walking towards him. It was a familiar figure, but he had to tear his eyes away from the building to focus on it.

“Barton?” It was Bucky’s voice. He rolled down the window.

He looked over, at Bucky’s left arm, but it was covered by a sweatshirt and a glove. He’d cut his hair shorter. 

Clint realized after a moment that he didn’t have it in him to respond; all he could offer was a small nod and a weak smile. 

“What— what’re you doing here? Nobody got a call, nothin’.” Bucky tapped his finger on the metal, peering at him through the open window.

“What, I can’t just stop and say hello?” Clint’s voice was scratchy and quiet, and it took effort to speak. Still, there was a hint of familiar sarcasm.

Bucky just chuckled. “A little out of the way, don’t you think?”

Clint smiled sadly, and rolled up the window. He took the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car, throwing them in the air and catching them again. He looked up at the building once more, swallowed, then tore his eyes away. 

Bucky led him to the lobby— or what was once the lobby. Now it’s the center of the training arena, and the entrance to the new headquarters. 

The room was large, and full of windows that let pale light in from the gray skies outside. 

“Who’s working this place now?” Clint asked. He knew the answer, but he just wanted to fill the silence. Walking here was like walking through a skeleton, or an old house; there were lives that were lived here that are gone now. 

“Sam, Rhodes, and I, mostly,” Bucky said. “Bruce checks in every once and a while. Carol and Thor are still... well, God knows what they’re doin’.” Bucky let out a chuckle. 

“How are things?” Clint asked, once again just to fill the space. He didn’t really care how things were. It was just as if his body were on autopilot, clicked into the idea of normal.

“They’re alright,” he responded lightly. They could both see through the empty words; their world had been irreversibly rocked by the events of the last few years. There was no coming back— the definition of “alright” itself had been completely reinvented.

When Clint didn’t follow up with a response, Bucky cleated his throat. “What’s up? What’s going on? Why’re you... checking in?”

Clint found it ironic how similar this question was to a health office. Because that’s what this was, right? A clinical check-in?

No. Not really. It all stemmed from the same thing in the end, though— Clint was suffering, and in turn so was his family. And when that happened, he and Laura decided that he had to leave. That’s really what this was, despite everything he told himself. This was his wake up call. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it right now,” Clint muttered. His muscles tensed, in the same way they do when he’s in a fight. But he knew he wasn’t fighting anyone, and Bucky didn’t ask to hear the entire truth, and all Clint really had to do was make up some pretty lie and skip the messy honesty. 

But that was never really his style. So he just left it at that, swallowed down his words, and followed Bucky up to the commons.

—

Bucky and Sam put Clint to good use, telling him to man the heat-radars that track movement in the upper atmosphere. So he did that for a while, which did enough to take his mind off of everything else.

He was busy typing in coordinates, logging anomalies and the like, when somebody knocked on the cabin door.

He turned his head, narrowing his eyes. “Come in,” he said warily.

“Sorry, Dave, I—“ Bruce was scratching the back of his neck, then stopped in his tracks when he realized who it was. “Oh my God. I thought you were Dave.”

For some reason, that made Clint laugh. It was a nice feeling. Then came the familiar twinge of guilt, but it was always lesser these days. 

“Just Clint,” he murmured. 

“Yeah. I see,” Bruce said. “What’s... what’s going on? Why’re you here?” 

Clint swallowed. He should’ve known this would be asked a lot— he should’ve been ready.

“Felt like stopping by,” he responded, but it was flimsy. “Just couldn’t get enough of ya.”

“Right.” Bruce clearly noticed something, and clearly didn’t want to push it any more, and for a moment Clint wondered how damaged he really sounded. Maybe it was as bad as Laura said. Instinctively, he pulled his left sleeve down.

“Anyways, they put me on these here...” he waved at the screens, “machine thingies. So I gotta watch them. Hey, you know what this symbol means?” He pointed to a flashing light on the far side of the screen. “I know I worked for SHIELD back in the day but they never had me on tech.”

Bruce stepped closer, moving his hand across the hologram. 

“Shouldn’t be anything to worry about,” he muttered.

“You sure? You look pretty worried. I was, um, gonna call Rhodes.”

“No need for that,” Bruce chewed on his cheek. “It’s fine. If it keeps on for a few days, let me know.”

“Who says I’m staying for a few days?”

“Oh. I don’t know. You’re not back for good?” The questions was said in a joking tone, but something more serious underlined it. 

“I got a family, man. Back home, they, uh, well, I’ve got them.” Clint swallowed. 

“Oh. Then why’d you stop by?”

“You already asked that. Everyone keeps asking me that,” Clint muttered. “Can I not just want to say hi?”

“No, of course you can—“

“Well, clearly not.”

“Woah,” said Bruce, eyeing Clint. “No need to be defensive.”

“I’m not being defensive. Everyone’s, like, interrogating me.” His ears started to ring.

“You sound pretty defensive, to me.”

“You—“ Clint let out a sigh, but he hated the way his breath finally shook in his lungs. “This was a mistake.”

“What was a mistake?” Worry crept into Bruce’s words.

“Coming here. This—“ he waved his hands around, gesturing at the whole facility. “This place terrifies me. I thought— I just thought that by coming here, I could... I could, you know, _face_ what’s happened.” He swallowed thickly, voice dropping to a low whisper. “But I can’t. I need to leave.”

“Oh.” Bruce set his jaw forward, and shut off the hologram, so it was just them, a desk, and a window open to the slowly fading upstate sky. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Clint shifted, setting his elbows on the desk on resting his forehead in his hands. His heart rattled in his chest. “I’ll be fine. Just need a minute.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

Clint nodded, and lifted his gaze to the slowly setting sun. His breath still shook in his lungs. “I’m clocking out for the night,” he said, sort of dazed.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Bruce murmured. “I’ll get someone to take the night shift.”

After some time, they left, winding through the dark, eerie hallways in silence, through the lives and dreams and ghosts of those who once lived there.

—

They gave him his old room at the compound, the one with the view of the training yard and the rising sun. But he couldn’t sleep there— there were too many memories between those four walls.

He didn’t want to tell anyone that, though, so he settled on sleeping on the couch, in the commons room. Memories littered that place, too, but since the renovations everything seemed a little altered, like the place he was thinking of didn’t really exist anymore.

For a little while he actually fell asleep.

—

Something like pride and admiration bloomed in his chest as he looked at her.

He‘d have children of his own later, of course, but she would always really be his first one, and the first would always hold a special place in his heart. Even if she wasn’t his by blood, and even if she was growing up faster and faster before his eyes. She would still always be his first real daughter.

Stronger then ever, it seemed.

But soon the pride gave way to gripping fear as the dawning of a certain realization took hold. It was something that he, even in this dream-world, didn’t want to ever really fully remember.

This fear seemed to crawl up out of the pit of his stomach, and up his throat until it was all he could feel and all he could taste. 

Until it consumed everything, and his eyes saw only black even though they were wide open, until he couldn’t breathe or think at all. 

—

“Jesus fuck— wake up, Barton,” someone was muttering, and he vaguely felt a hand rocking his shoulder. “Come on. Fuck. Wake up, man.”

He blinked his eyes open, relief washing over him as he made out the colors and shapes of the common room. His throat still felt tight, like there was a lump in there he wasn’t ready to get rid of. 

“I’m awake,” he muttered breathlessly, sitting up and pressing his back against the couch. The pressure was grounding and safe as he managed to shake himself out of his own head.

It was Bucky, there, sitting on the coffee table in front of him. 

“What— what— what— why are you in here?” Clint stuttered, swallowing thickly and cursing himself for not keeping it together. This is the same kind of shit that got him in the same trouble to begin with.

“Why am I in here? It’s the common room, man.”

Clint sighed, proud of how under control he’d kept his breath. “Yeah, yeah. Couldn’t sleep in my old room.”

“Seems like you can’t in here, either.”

“Aw, fuck you. You’re the one who woke me up. Maybe I was sleeping fine.” 

“No, you weren’t.” Bucky looked around, and then back down to Clint, who’d wrapped himself in a blanket. “You were, like, shaking or some shit. I don’t know.”

Clint swallowed. “I’m okay. Probably just cold, or something.”

“Right.” 

Bucky was silent for a while, but he didn’t move from the coffee table. Clint glanced outside; it was still dark out, but he could actually see the faintest glimpse of pale morning lining the trees.

Clint shifted, pulling the blanket around him and sitting up. He exhaled once, slowly, then moved to get up off the couch and across to the kitchen on the other side of the room.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, then finally looked back up at Bucky.

He hadn’t moved; he just sat there watching Clint.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” Clint muttered. “I don’t like it.”

“Like what?”

“Like... that. I don’t know.” He downed the glass in one drink. He exhaled again, controlled. “Can’t a man have a drink every once and awhile?”

“I’m not sayin’ you can’t.”

“No, but your face is. That look you have. I don’t know.”

“You say ‘I don’t know’ a lot.” Bucky stood up finally. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Clint—“ Bucky faltered, though, hesitating. “Clint, I’m... I’m gonna ask you a question, alright? And you can’t say ‘I don’t know’.”

Clint poured the rest of the liquor down his throat, feeling it burn as it made its way to his stomach. It always made his insides feel warm— a familiar feeling.

“Shoot,” he said, leaning his hands on the counter.

“What’s the real reason you stopped by?”

He stared for a moment, at Bucky from across the room.

His wife’s words rang in his ears: _You don’t come back here until you sort yourself out. For yourself, and the kids._ And it wasn’t anger in her voice, or even fear, just love and hope. There was nothing malicious about what she said, only truth and promise. 

He’d looked up at her through foggy eyes, from that hospital bed, with his left wrist stitched up by doctors and wrapped tight with gauze, with the same guilty feeling in his heart, and nodded.

He remembered the way her lips felt on his, even as they both trembled, damp with salty tears. He loved her more than words could ever describe— and he’d let her down. Yet still, she tasted like hope, and that was all he really needed.

Clint looked back up at Bucky, then swallowed thickly and headed towards the balcony door. He heard Bucky follow behind. 

Once outside, he leaned back against the wall and half slid, half sat down, suddenly exhausted.

“You really want to know?” He asked weakly. 

“Yeah. ‘s why I asked.”

Clint smirked tiredly, glancing to the side. “Smartass.”

Fear seemed to creep through his veins, though, and he had to steady his breath as his heart rattled in his chest.

Slowly, he rolled his left sleeve up, and peeled the dressings back, exposing the fresh jagged scar.

There was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t shake, so he settled on just staring at the horizon; he didn’t even want to see Bucky’s face. He didn’t want to know.

“What’s this?” Bucky asked slowly, even though he knew.

Clint shook his head, sniffing to steady himself again. “Laura found me,” he murmured. He shut his eyes. “Thank _God_ it was her, and not the kids.”

“It was... it was a suicide attempt?”

“Yes. Yeah. I know. I freaked out, I— I panicked. I thought— well, I don’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking.” He swallowed. “It’s... it’s survivor’s guilt, is all. I think.”

“Are you okay?”

Clint looked at Bucky finally. “What the fuck? Are you kidding me?” He laughed sharply. “I just told you that five days ago I tried to kill myself, and that’s what you ask? Of course I’m not okay.”

Bucky laughed sadly, then, too. “Sorry.” He paused. “So, you... came here. Why?”

An uneven breath. “Laura said— she said I couldn’t let the kids see me like this. I don’t blame her.” 

“But why _here_?” He repeated.

Clint felt the lump in his throat grow.

“Because I think I need to... to actually face everything? All these people that I told myself to forget... I just need to be here. So I can get over it, I think, and move on.”

“Move on,” he echoed, and it was as if a memory, some distant memory, had resurfaced in Bucky. 

“Yeah.”

“You miss her.”

“Laura? Well, yeah—“

“No.”

Clint swallowed, suddenly aware of this building and the ghosts that haunted it, and he didn’t dare turn around, even to look at Bucky.

“Tasha,” Clint murmured. Something like shame and sadness built up inside him— or maybe it was just grief, unearthed yet again. 

Bucky just nodded. 

“Of— of course I miss her.” His voice was starting to shake, and his stomach burned with anger. He wasn’t sure where it came from but he knew it was mostly towards himself. “She... she died, and— and it was for me, and the kids, and Laura; she did it for us. She _sacrificed_ herself for us.” Then there’s the familiar burn of tears in his eyes. “And I love her for that. I’m so proud— I’m so proud of her, I just... sometimes I still think it should’ve been me.”

Bucky was quiet for a while, then spoke up. His voice was gentle. “You can’t do that to yourself.”

Clint let out a broken laugh, running the back of his hand under his nose. “Yeah, well. Too late.”

“No, it’s not too late.” He reached out for Clint’s wrist and rolled the sleeve back up once more. “This,” he said, gesturing to the healing scar, “it doesn’t have to be like this.”

Clint wiped his cheeks hazily with his other forearm. “What if,” he whispered, faltering. “What if I just never get better?”

“What do you mean? Of course you will.”

“No, I mean... what if I never forgive myself? They say time heals wounds, but what if it just... doesn’t?“ Clint swallowed thickly. “I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s alright.”

“You— you know what stopped me from doing it? All those years?” His voice almost trembled.

“What?”

“I’d, um, hold the handgun up to my head, right, and I’d shut my eyes, but then I’d hear her voice.” He let out a breath. This was something he’d never told Laura, or anyone. “And it’s not what she said, exactly— I can’t even remember what she said. It was just her. And she was so proud of me, for something I can’t even remember anymore, but... 

“She saved you.”

“So many more times than she even knew. Even that last time, cause... cause, you know, I did the first one,” he gestured to his arm, “But I know she stopped me from doing the second.”

“Jesus, Clint.” Bucky let out a shaky sigh. “I want to tell you a story. And... I know this isn’t about me, so I can stop if you want.”

“No, it’s alright.”

“Okay. Um... okay. Listen, man, I get it. I know how you feel. I’ve been there, you know, with my past and all. It was a few years ago, I think.” There was a pause, seemingly as Bucky thought about how to tell this story. “I’ve had my fair share of bad days, believe me. Bad spells, you name it.” He swallowed. “But Steve and Sam were there, so I couldn’t let go entirely. For them, you know. He used to tell me that, though— what you said about, uh, moving on. Steve did. He kept telling me to do it, to get over it, for my future, or something. For the present. I don’t know. Can’t remember. Anyways— point is, I’m pretty sure he was right. You’ve gotta move on from the past so you can live your present.” 

Before Clint could reply, though, Bucky followed up quickly. “I know it’s easier said than done. I know. But I just think that you’re already moving in the right direction.”

Clint swallowed. “Doesn’t really feel like it, but thanks.”

“Well, trust me.”

There was an easy silence as the two of them looked out over the peaceful forest and drank in the deafening quiet. 

After a while, Clint moved to get up.

“You, uh... you’re a good man, Barnes,” he murmured. “I haven’t... haven’t really had anyone to talk to about this, since, well, you know. So, thanks.”

“Yeah. No problem.” There was a pause. “You’ll be okay for now?”

“Yep.”

“There are some melatonin pills in the first guest bedroom to the right. Down the hall, through there,” Bucky said, gesturing to a set of closed doors. 

Clint’s breath caught in his throat. 

Ghosts. 

Not real ghosts, of course, but in his mind this building was full of dreams and spirits— _of_ life, _from_ lives taken too soon. Or maybe they were right on time. Fate, is all it was. 

Either way, something twisted in his gut. One of those rooms was _hers_, where so many nights were spent as he unraveled the gray matter of his brain onto her couch as she tried to stitch him back together. So many days filled with laughter, and safety, and _home_. He was sure he wouldn’t be alive if not for her.

“Guest rooms,” he murmured, shaking his head. 

“Crazy, huh,” Bucky said softly. Clint only nodded. He smiled, then, though, and part of him knew it was forced, but another part knew that it was healing. 

—

“What, you trying to kill some sheep?”

Clint turned around with a start. He recognized Rhodes’ voice immediately, but his eyes still took time to adjust to the shadows. 

He looked down at his own palm, which held the next stone he’d planned to throw out at the dark field. In one swift movement, he hurled it out and watched the movement of the light as it soared over the grass and fell all those stories below.

“Nah,” Clint said tiredly. “Ain’t no sheep out there.”

Rhodes laughed. “Yeah, probably not.” 

There was silence at first, as Clint dropped his arm and simply stared out at the skyline as it gradually grew lighter. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and he didn’t have it in him yet to take the sleeping pills, so climbing out to some tall roof was his next best idea. 

“What’s with this place, man,” he asked finally, turning to look at Rhodes. “Everywhere I go, someone’s finding me. It’s not even daybreak yet.”

“You mean this?” He responded.

“Yeah. I don’t know.”

Rhodes sighed. “I’ll be honest with you. Bucky was worried, and had me come look for you.”

“He couldn’t do it himself?”

“Don’t ask me.”

“I’m not gonna jump,” Clint muttered. “It’s probably not even high enough to kill me.”

“Now that’s a real red flag.” Rhodes crouched down next to him, still unsteady even with the revolutionary technology. “You know that, right? What you just said—“

“I know what I said,” Clint huffed. “I didn’t mean it like that. Promise. I’m not gonna jump.”

There was a pause. “Good.”

“Yeah. I’m just thinking. Couldn’t sleep. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah, I do.” His words came out in a sigh. “Do I want to ask what you’re thinking about?”

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

Rhodes swallowed and nodded, eyes drifting out to the eastern horizon. First light was on the rise.

Clint’s chest fluttered for a moment, and he shut his eyes tight. His kids— he needed to be there for his kids. He couldn’t die. What was he thinking?

“I don’t want to die,” he whispered. 

Rhodes didn’t answer, but Clint could feel his presence, and that’s all that mattered.

“I don’t. I don’t want to die. I just—“ He let out a shuddering breath, hating how pathetic he sounded but not having it in him to care. “She had a future, and— and she gave it to me. I don’t, I can’t... I...” 

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Slow down.”

“N-no, she— I can’t do this, man. God, I think—“ He drew in one long, trembling breath. “I can’t freak out. Not again. God, this is what got me into this _fucking_ mess in the first place.” He covered his face, trying to steady himself.

“Come on. It’s okay. Are you sick? Do we need to take you in?”

“No, I— I don’t know. No.” He exhaled. “Leave me alone for a minute, will ya?”

“Yeah. No. You got it, I just... I’ll be right here.” Gentle concern and understanding laced his voice. “I’m not going to leave, though.”

Clint didn’t have it in him to respond. He shut his eyes lightly and he saw her face again, just like he always did. He watched her for a moment, in this dream-consciousness world, recalling something he’d heard many years back. 

When you remember something, you’re only remembering the last time you remembered it. 

So this wasn’t really her— of course it wasn’t. But it wasn’t even a memory of her, it was a memory of a memory of a memory... and so on and so forth, and it will be like that until he dies, as he changes and evolves with life. But she will always stay the same. And that’s it.

Somehow, that’s what got to him. That’s what made him crack— not her funeral, nothing in the months since the blip, but this. A memory of a memory.

Tears stung in his eyes but he didn’t move his hands from out of his face. He let out a low, frustrated sound, as if to try and shake the feeling, but he couldn’t.

“It’s this fucking place, man, I— I swear to god.” Sharp inhale. “It’s like, when I was away, no time passed, and none of this mattered, ‘cause I was so far away. Right? But this— I’m _here_. I have to _face_ it all again— all of _them._”

“All of who?”

“Everyone we lost. Everyone who lived here. My— they were my friends. And now they’re gone. And I know, I know it’s not uncommon, lots of people lose friends, I just...” He ran his sleeve under his nose, dropping his hands finally. “This is so fucking pathetic.”

“Stop it. No, it’s not. It’s okay.”

Clint laughed bitterly. “And my family. I want to go back to them but I _can’t_, not ‘til I’m okay. Not ‘til I can go more than a few weeks without losing my fucking mind. Jesus Christ, it feels like I’m never going to get there.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Clint turned finally, squinting up at Rhodes. 

“What? That’s not what you’re supposed to say.”

He sighed. “What do you want me to say? That it’s all fine? That you’re going to turn out okay? I don’t know that.”

Clint set his jaw forward and refused to reply.

“Listen, man. I know it hurts right now. I know what grief feels like. I know guilt, survivor’s guilt. Believe me. But I’m telling you now— you already made the right choice. Because if you’re to heal, and that’s an _if_, this is the place. Understand? You won’t heal back at home, so far away, just trying to escape the past. But you’ll heal here.“

—

Morning came slowly. Rhodes seemed scared, so Clint let him sit with him until the sun rose. He knew the threat of suicide spooked Rhodey, and for good reason— Tony was never a simple person to be there for. 

“You want any breakfast?” Rhodes asked, sitting up. They’d moved to the couch in the commons, deeming the roof to be too cold.

“Does it count as breakfast if I didn’t sleep a wink?”

“I think so?”

He huffed out a breath of laughter. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll have something.”

Rhodes stood up, leading them down the hallway to the kitchen in the west wing. Clint stopped in his tracks for a moment, though.

Rhodes turned around, concerned. 

“Barton?”

“Yeah, I, uh... I should call her.”

“Laura?”

Clint swallowed, nodding. He felt around his pockets, finding his phone. “I’ll catch up. Just give me a second.”

“O-okay. Yeah. I’ll be here.”

The phone rang once, then twice, and then she picked up.

“Baby?” He gentle voice echoed through the phone lines.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“God, I—“ She sounded sad, yet relieved. “You should come back home.”

Guilt bubbled in his stomach. “I don’t know,” he whispered, glancing down at the bandage still wrapped around his wrist. “I don’t know if I can.”

“It doesn’t matter. Come home. I shouldn’t have—“

“No, stop it.”

“Baby, you can come back. I shouldn’t have told you to leave.” Thick remorse echoed through her voice, and it made his stomach twist. “I love you. We miss you.”

“Laura...”

“Where are you now?”

“The compound. Upstate.”

“Jesus. Okay. H-how is that?”

“A train wreck,” he admitted. “It’s not easy.”

“Then why?”

“Why am I here? Because— because, um, I... I have to move on.”

He could almost hear her thinking. His heart swelled with love and longing— he didn’t deserve her. God, he should be home right now.

She cleared her throat. “From the... blip? Or whatever happened?”

“Yeah. And the people we lost.”

“Natasha.”

His breath seemed to catch in his throat. “Mhm.”

“Come home, baby. I know you’re struggling right now, but... just come home.”

“I will,” he whispered. “Just... I need to do this.”

“What?”

“I need to be here, to process everything, Laura. Listen to me—“

“I’m listening.”

“Yeah, I— I need to fix myself. What happened Sunday... I can’t let that happen again. I don’t want to die, I just... lost it. I got scared... because I haven’t moved on yet. But I will, here, with the others—or whoever’s left, at least. They’re going to help me, Laura. And I know you’d be able to help me, too, but you don’t have to. You don’t need that stress, with the kids and all.”

“I can handle it, though,” she reminded him softly. “But if this is what you want, what will help you the most... just... just make sure you come home.”

He laughed, shutting his eyes. “I will. I miss you. I’ll be back soon. Just let me do this, okay?

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he echoed, making sure.

“Yes. Okay.” She sighed. “I love you.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I know. Love you too.”

“Come home soon.”

“I will. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> I may continue with this mini series or I may not. Might be interesting. Anyways please leave a comment to tell me what u think!! Thanks for reading!!


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